


Everything Ends, and It's Always Sad

by Shadow15



Series: Escape the Past, Create a New Future [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesiac Brock Rumlow, Anal Sex, Bottom Brock Rumlow, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, One Shot, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24196906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow15/pseuds/Shadow15
Summary: Jamie had learnt much during his time away from HYDRA, but saying goodbye to someone he loved so dearly was something he could never have been prepared for.Sequel to Escape My Own Mind.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow
Series: Escape the Past, Create a New Future [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746334
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	Everything Ends, and It's Always Sad

**Everything ends, and it's always sad. But everything begins again, too. And that's... Always happy. Be happy.**

**\- 12th Doctor, Doctor Who.**

“Rumlow, are you sure you can handle this? ...Rumlow? You okay?” 

Brock hummed softly as he looked up from the stitching of his jacket he had been picking at. He was smiling, bright and happy, his eyes glinting with a softness his companions had come to learn meant he was  _ very  _ okay. “Sorry. You say somethin’?” 

Coulson returned Brock’s smile, warm and kind and gentle, exactly why Brock liked him so much; a good leader, and an even better man. “Yes. Are you sure you’re up to this?” 

“Uh-huh.” Brock’s attention went immediately back to the stray stitching on his jacket sleeve, his humming long and loud and  _ happy.  _ He’d forgotten already about the conversation, forgotten long previous that Coulson and the others always worried about him every time they begrudgingly allowed him onto the field with them. And, as if his straying attention span wasn’t enough, he looked back up and asked them, still smiling as if he’d been told Christmas was coming early, “What are we doin’ again?” 

May shot Coulson a sideways look, a silent request for Brock to be taken back home where he would be safe with their other resident amnesiac, but all Coulson did was patiently explain the mission once again, trying not to acknowledge the deep concern he always felt for Brock’s safety and wellbeing. “We’re looking for an item in an abandoned facility.” 

“What kind of item?” Brock’s eyes never stopped shining as he looked at Coulson like he held the stars in the sky. 

“It’s…” Coulson couldn’t explain it to Brock; he didn’t want to take the chance of Brock ever finding out about his past. So instead, he took advantage of Brock’s lack of proper attention and murmured, “They’re small and round; they look like grey tennis balls. If you see anything like that, make sure you tell us.” 

Brock hummed again. He rocked on the balls of his feet as he continued picking at his jacket sleeve, off in his own little world once more. 

Coulson and May shared another look before Coulson murmured to Fitz, “Keep an eye on him, okay?” 

Fitz nodded. He looked away when Coulson shrugged a backpack from his shoulders to retrieve wire cutters to instead step next to Brock and put his hand on his arm. Brock startled slightly at the touch, too lost in his own head to have even noticed the approach, but when he looked down at Fitz, his eyes were as warm and loving as ever. 

Fitz smiled back up at Brock, keeping Brock’s attention focused on him as best he could until the wire fence had been cut, and Coulson was calling everyone to follow him.

Once everyone was through the fence and walking again, May quickened her stride to walk side-by-side with Coulson. Once she was certain Brock wouldn’t overhear, she murmured, “Sometimes I wonder if it’s a good idea for him to be doing field work again.” 

“He asked,” Coulson reminded. “He doesn’t want to stay on the plane. He wants to help people, and he sees what we do and he wants to be a part of that.” 

“He never even knows what day it is; we have to remind him ten times daily,” May pointed out. “He can barely  _ walk,  _ Coulson.” 

“But he can handle a gun and he’s never been a hindrance to a mission before.” Coulson smiled at May, but May didn’t find it so convincing. “He will be fine; he knows he’s restricted to simple missions where we’re with him, May. I’m not going to send him marching into a HYDRA base on his own.” 

If Coulson had thought he might possibly make a point here, his mind quickly changed at the distressed wail that came from behind them. 

May’s lips twitched into a frown at the sudden commotion. Her expression remained stoic as she murmured to Coulson, “I told you so. I know you think you’re doing the right thing by him for letting him decide what he wants to do with his life, but you’re putting us  _ all  _ in danger.” 

Coulson gave no response to May’s words so he could instead turn around and see what Brock was crying about. He clued in pretty quick at the way Brock was clutching a tear in his jacket sleeve, not where he had been playing with it earlier, but higher up, just below the STRIKE emblem on the top of the sleeve. It had gotten caught on a tree branch from the looks of things, torn just enough to show tanned skin, but not enough that Brock should be acting as distraught as he was. 

“Simmons.” Coulson rarely lost his patience with Brock. None of them really did, and they weren’t going to start now. “What’s happened?” 

Jemma was rubbing Brock’s arm, trying to soothe him as she gave her report to Coulson. “Just a mood swing; he’ll snap out of it in a few minutes.”

It was hard to understand Brock’s mood swings and what set them off at times, but as Jemma had explained to them all, delicate parts of Brock’s brain had been blown out completely, and one of the more damaged areas to his brain just happened to be the parts that regulated his emotions. Sometimes Brock got sad. Sometimes he got angry. Sometimes he just got so unbelievably happy, everyone needed some space until he’d calmed down. 

But whatever mood swing he was experiencing never seemed to last long. Coulson suspected that was mostly due to Jamie always scooping him up into his arms and holding him tight until he was a smiling, bubbly mess again. 

It was times like this that made Coulson wish Jamie was with them.

“Hey, hey, shhh, we can fix this.” Fitz, doing better himself, knelt down and dropped his backpack from his shoulders so he could rummage inside. “Look, we got some thread we can use to stitch it back together.” 

Jemma took the toolkit Fitz handed her and didn’t hesitate to piece together Brock’s jacket. Sure enough, as soon as the work was done, he was smiling again, admiring the work to his STRIKE jacket. He followed behind the group, his eyes fixed on the stitching with love in his eyes. 

But not paying attention to where he was walking led to an inevitable fall. Shyly, he dusted himself off once he was helped back to his feet and looked down as he apologised. “Sorry… Distracted.” 

From beside Coulson, May gave a knowing smirk. “See? Told you.”

Coulson sighed. “So his attention span needs some work… We’re working on that.” 

May couldn’t help but give a small laugh. “I don’t think the field is the best place to work on attention spans.”

Coulson couldn’t help but chuckle in return. May was right, they all knew that, but when Brock had dug out his old STRIKE uniform from the bottom of the dresser and asked about it, it was hard to resist his request to go back to “helping people”. 

Brock didn’t know what that uniform used to mean to him, and hopefully he never would. All Coulson wanted was for Brock to find meaning in something he believed in - and from the looks of things, Brock was truly on the right path this time. 

***

Brock wasn’t supposed to be left alone. It wasn’t the matter that he fell a lot, or that on more than one occasion he’d set fire to the kitchen because he never remembered to turn the stove off, or he got confused and put the kettle on the electric element and didn’t register the kettle melting before his very eyes. 

No. What it was was the heart attacks. 

Brock had been lucky to bounce back so well after the gunshot wounds to his brain, but Jemma had her theories that the way Rollins had shocked Brock’s brain the same way they’d always fried Jamie’s had caused more damage than the bullets had. Some of that damage was to his heart. 

Jamie knew about the heart attacks. He knew that Brock had been in cardiac arrest while Rollins unloaded a few rounds into his head. He also knew that Brock was high risk, and while it was okay to let him wander around the plane on his own for a while, Jemma didn’t want him left alone for long periods of time. 

That was why, whenever Brock accompanied his friends out onto the field, and a night or two in a motel went hand-in-hand, he was never left to sleep in his own room; he shared with Jemma and her medical kit in case anything went wrong during the night.

Brock was sweet. It seemed to be a recurring theme with their brain-damaged comrades, but really, Brock was sweet. At least, he was, compared to his original arrival to the team.

“Thank you, Brock.” Jemma smiled at Brock as she accepted the glass of water he had sourced for her of his own accord. “Where is your water?” 

Brock shook his head. His cheeks were red, all the way to the tip of his ears as he gave a shy smile. “Not thirsty.” 

“You don’t have to get me drinks if you aren’t drinking, too,” Jemma promised. From where she sat on her bed, she pressed herself against the wall to keep space between them when Brock climbed onto the mattress to join her. No sense of personal space anymore; the old Brock would have screamed and cussed up a storm had someone dared get this close to him. “I don’t need anything unless you want it, too.”

Brock hummed thoughtfully at the words before he looked shyly away, his face reddening further. Hesitantly, he raised one arm and wrapped it around Jemma’s shoulders, pulling her flush against him. Jemma knew she should push him away, especially with the way his pants looked just a tad tighter than they had a moment ago, but when he turned his attention to the TV, she let him have his moment; sometimes Brock got confused with being overly friendly, and driven by arousal. 

It wasn’t unlike Jamie, to a degree, but at least with Jamie they knew he had a grasp on consent, for a start, and tended to keep his hands to himself. Brock was different in a sense where, while they trusted him not to hurt them, the brain damage made it hard for him to control his sexual impulses and understandings, and they weren’t sure that if he were to try, they would be able to get him to stop. 

But thankfully whatever arousal Brock was feeling was overshadowed by his friendly nature and short attention span, because he quickly became amused by the TV instead. 

Jemma untangled herself from Brock’s arm to excuse herself for a shower. Brock watched her leave, and Jemma was sure he was going to follow her into the bathroom again. But thankfully, he stayed where he was, seemingly distracted by his phone next. 

Jemma loved Brock, but not romantically, not in any sense of the word, no matter how much he seemed to have a sexual interest in her, and sometimes, she just wished Jamie was there to keep him under control - especially when she emerged from her shower and was greeted by the scene of Brock’s hand in his underwear, panting and huffing as his hips moved in time with the porn he had found on TV. 

Yep. Jemma  _ definitely  _ wished Jamie would at least come and camp out with them at the motels because at least then it might be easier getting Brock into his own bed and ready for sleep.

***

Jamie didn’t participate in field missions. It wasn’t necessarily anyone’s order, but rather, an unspoken thing between them all that Jamie didn’t want to be taken out onto the field, and he was much happier staying on the plane waiting for them all to return. Sometimes, much to Jamie’s displeasure, Brock went with them. Jamie didn’t like it, but Brock wanted to go, and he wasn’t being forced or used or anything like the Soldier had been, so Jamie let him go. 

The problem with that was the loneliness. 

Jamie knew that Steve didn’t like him being left on his own. He said it wouldn’t be good for Jamie’s mental health or wellbeing, but Jamie sort of liked having the whole plane to himself. It was lonely, yes, but it meant a level of… 

Well, Jamie didn’t even know what it really was, but he liked utilising the alone time to familiarise himself with his cooking skills and, if he were to be honest, it was kind of fun to look through everyone’s bedrooms and see what secrets about his friends he could discover. He particularly liked the stash of naked magazines hiding under Fitz’s bed, and Jamie could spend hours sitting on Coulson’s bed reading his Captain America books. 

But sometimes, his adventures in his friends’ bedrooms got him scolded, especially for the time he’d opened up all the little packets of weird latex balloons he couldn’t blow up and left scattered on Mack’s floor. 

Jamie didn’t mind; he saw it as a challenge to hone his sneaking skills and leave his searches undetectable. 

The problem with Jamie’s adventures was when he found something he wanted for himself, something small or shiny or even just trash. He wasn’t above collecting rocks or empty drink cans, but the most troublesome of all was when he would take personal belongings and claim them as his own. 

Like when he took a pendent from May’s bedroom and presented it happily to Brock upon his return from field work. 

“Jamie, not yours.” Brock pushed Jamie’s hand away, refusing the pendant. Jamie knew too well the significance of that action because, in a past life, Brock cared little about stolen items. “Give it back.”

Jamie protested, insisting Brock take the pendant. Eventually Brock  _ did  _ take the pendant, but not to keep; instead, with Jamie tailing him closely whining like a scolded puppy, he sought out May to return the item. 

“Jemma, where’s May?” Brock rocked back and forth on the heel of his feet, his head ducked shyly and truly the picture of innocence. If his face wasn’t so obviously aged, he could have passed for the love-struck young man asking for a first date with how he was acting. 

“She’s gone back out, but she’ll be back soon.” Jemma, like she usually was, was in her lab, and when Brock reached out to pass her something small and silver, she realised it may have been a good thing she hadn’t gone with May after all when Brock winced and clawed at his chest.

“Brock…?” Jamie’s whimper was scared, but his actions were cool and collected as he gathered his lover into his arms and held him tight. 

Jemma went into action immediately. She tossed aside the object she had been examining so she could instead gather the medical kit and guide Jamie into bringing Brock to the gurney to lay him down. 

Jamie stood close, his metal fingers wrapped tightly around Brock’s to hold onto and  _ squeeze _ , anxiety bubbling in his stomach as he watched closely for all the signs of a heart attack Jemma had once schooled him on. 

But Jemma didn’t take long to clear Brock’s health and reassure them both that it was nothing more than muscle contraction causing breathing difficulties and that he would be fine. 

Jamie wasn’t convinced, and he would spend the next three days watching Brock like a hawk, but Brock had been happy and cheerful and feeling well enough to have kept Jamie in bed with him for plenty of lovemaking, so maybe Jamie was just worrying too much - Jemma always told him he needed to relax more. 

But eventually, after days of Brock showing no more worrying signs of a damaged heart, Jamie’s concern eventually shifted onto something else. 

“Jemma…” Jamie’s hands fumbled together as he tried to find the right way to express himself. “I want… In the movie I watched with Brock, I want…” 

Jemma tried hard to decipher what Jamie wanted. She reflected back onto the last movie she’d known Jamie and Brock to have watched together, and although it wasn’t much to go on, she still offered gently, “You want to take him on a date?” 

A giddy smile crossed Jamie’s face as he nodded exuberantly. His fingers entwined together and his eyelids became half-closed in his relaxation. “Yes, please. Just like in the movie.” 

Jemma couldn’t help but smile in return, adoring just how sweet and loving Jamie had become with some proper love and affection of his own to revel in. She reached out to rub his arm as she gently reminded, “I’ll help you plan for next weekend, okay? You have this weekend at Steve’s, remember?” 

Jamie nodded, his eyes bright and lively with excitement, everything that they had not been when he’d first arrived into their care. “Just like in the movie, Jemma. ...Please?” 

Jemma moved her hand downwards in order to grab Jamie’s hand and tug him further into her lab. She gestured for him to take a seat as she shut the door behind them, not wanting for their conversation to be overheard - especially by Brock. 

The excitement was clear in Jemma’s voice as well. “We need to do your hair first, Jamie. Do you like ponytails?” 

Jamie hummed as he considered the question. Eventually, he cocked his head to the side and murmured, “What does a horse have to do with my hair?” 

Jemma laughed loudly, her eyes as bright as Jamie’s. “No! No, I mean tying your hair back! Here, turn around and look into the mirror.” 

Jamie did as he was told, his body loose and relaxed as Jemma got behind him to take hold of his hair and gather it into one hand. She used her other hand to untie her own hair and use the band to tie Jamie’s hair back instead. When she was done, she planted a kiss on Jamie’s temple and murmured, “Do you like it?” 

Jamie hummed again, his flesh hand gingerly reaching back to touch his hair. He considered it, long and hard, still trying to get used to being allowed to have control over his own body, before he smiled and nodded. “Yes.” 

Jemma smiled back. “Good. Let’s leave your hair down until your date, okay? It’ll be a surprise.” 

“Okay. ...Thank you.” 

Jemma’s smile slipped a little. Her hand moved slowly to rest on top of Jamie’s head, her fingertips rubbing into his hair gently as she pondered just how far Jamie could have come already if Trip was still around to continue teaching him manners and etiquette. 

Jemma couldn’t help but whisper sadly. “You’re welcome, Jamie…” 

As if Jamie sensed the sadness, he turned around to face her. His eyes studied her hard, and as if finding what he was looking for, he cocked his head to the side and whispered back. “Do you want a hug?” 

Sometimes it was an eery contrast between just how much Jamie had learnt about emotion and comforting, but how  _ blank  _ he still could be about it, as if he had to lock his own emotions away in order to process how others were feeling. 

In a way, that probably was it. But who could blame him when he’d spent seven decades with no control or consent over how his own mind and body were used, Jemma had to remember. 

At least Jamie was learning and getting better. He was healing and coming far from the empty, almost  _ mindless  _ person whose only social skill was following others around at a safe distance to stare at them. 

And with that thought in mind, Jemma gave a nod and allowed herself to be wrapped up in Jamie’s strong, yet deceivingly gentle arms, and held tight. 

***

Visits to Steve’s apartment were something Jamie strived to do as much as he could, but could really only ever spend a couple of weekends organised  _ far  _ in advance each month. So of course, with Brock in tow (May had already tried hard to talk Jamie into learning to do things without dragging Brock along as well, to no avail), Jamie found himself climbing the stairs of the apartment building, carrying Brock on his back. 

Jamie was happy, humming softly to himself with every step he took. Brock was content also, his hips and front glued to Jamie’s back as he was supported easily by the metal hand holding him up. His cheek rested against Jamie’s neck as he watched what was in front of them, even if he didn’t particularly want to be here; he didn’t think Steve liked him very much, and it always made him uncomfortable. 

But something happened that made him even more uncomfortable than the silent glares Steve would send his way whenever Jamie wasn’t looking. 

“Oh, no…” Brock’s eyes welled with tears of embarrassment as he felt for the first time that day his bladder making itself known. He wriggled against Jamie’s back, trying to get away, but Jamie only held him tighter. He moaned in distress. “No… It’s comin’ out…!” 

Jamie tried to quicken his pace to get to Steve’s apartment in time, but the growing wetness in the back of his shirt that quickly stuck to his skin told him his efforts had been futile. He slowed his pace again, seeing no need to bounce Brock around unnecessarily now that he’d already gone. 

Jamie didn’t mind that Brock had wet himself on him by accident - truly; HYDRA used to piss on him for  _ fun _ until Brock became his handler and hastily put a stop to it - but the sobs against the back of his neck told him that Brock  _ did  _ mind,  _ very much _ . 

“It’s okay, Brock,” Jamie tried to reassure. “I don’t mind. Promise.” 

But Brock wouldn’t have it. He kept crying, his sobs never relenting, even when he was brought into Steve’s apartment and sat down on the sofa so Jamie could strip his clothing off and run a damp towel between his legs to clean the urine off him. 

Eventually, he did quieten down, but that was only once Jamie emerged from his shower and came to him with a blanket and soft murmurs that it was time to have a sleep. Brock  _ did  _ sleep a lot, mostly from the brain trauma he had suffered, but also because, on occasion, he would become overtired and someone would put him to bed for a sleep like a tantrum-throwing toddler. Jamie had picked up on what his friends had been doing and adopted the method for himself, and sometimes Brock couldn’t help  _ but  _ be that tantrum-throwing toddler whenever Jamie came at him with a blanket to lay him down for a sleep. 

But not now, not when Jamie had clambered onto the sofa as well to hold him tight and recite the newest book he’d been reading, word-for-word. Brock probably would have gotten pissed off, but not when he caught sight of the way Steve was watching them, jealousy and disdain rife in his expression. 

Brock gave an exhausted frown, rolling onto his side so he could snuggle in close to Jamie, their fronts pressed together and his arm over Jamie to hold on tight to the back of his shirt. Jamie stroked Brock’s hair gently, watching Brock’s face closely as he waited for him to fall asleep. It didn’t take Brock long to drift off, and Jamie stayed where he was until soft snores sounded from beside him. 

It was only then did Jamie clamber out from beside Brock and move to sit beside Steve. There was no hesitation in him to lay his head on Steve’s shoulder and let out a content sigh, calmed by his once best friend’s presence. 

But that raised the question;  _ was  _ Steve still his best friend? Jamie wasn’t sure, but what he  _ did  _ know was that he loved Steve just as much as he loved Brock, and he would die to protect him if he had to. 

Steve’s smile, for the first time since their arrival, was genuine. He reached down to clasp Jamie’s flesh hand tight in his, squeeze it comfortingly, and whisper, “I’ve missed you, Buck… So much…” 

Jamie gave a soft, shy smile in return. He moved closer, impossibly close against Steve’s body, nuzzling his face against Steve’s neck. He gave a soft lick at the flesh his nose was pressed against, his smile warm and giddy. There was no beating around the bush with him as he murmured, “I want to have sex, Steve…” 

Steve chuckled. He let go of Jamie’s hand to instead rub at the small of his back. “You always want to have sex. Coulson’s told me all about that.” 

Jamie looked down at his lap. He couldn’t help but smile, remembering back to the time Coulson and May had once sat him and Brock down and gently explained to them that sexual acts weren’t supposed to be carried out on the kitchen table, and to kindly keep it to their bedroom. “We got in trouble…” 

Steve took Jamie by the chin and tilted his head back up in order to claim his lips for his own. “They just don’t understand… But I don’t mind where we make love, Buck. We can make love right here if you really want to.” 

Jamie’s cheeks flushed with arousal at the thought of Brock watching them. His already half-hard erection twitched with excitement, but he knew that Brock wouldn’t like it; Brock didn’t seem to understand that he was sharing his Jamie with Steve, so Jamie would never force him to be around it. 

With deep reluctance, Jamie shook his head and mumbled. “Bedroom… Brock will see…” 

Steve couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Brock getting upset at the sight of them together, but he had to remember that Jamie had a borderline unhealthy attachment to Brock, and whenever someone upset Brock, Jamie got upset also - and Jamie’s thousand yard stare of betrayal was never fun to experience, so Steve kept his thoughts to himself and instead tugged Jamie up from the sofa and into the bedroom. 

Brock didn’t wake, despite Jamie’s loud cries and moans of unrepressed pleasure, but his subconscious must have picked up on it because when Jamie came out an hour later to check on him, he was in the middle of a wet dream. 

It was a good thing, Jamie was coming to learn, for Brock - for them  _ both,  _ Jemma always told him - to be so reconnected with their bodies and seek out pleasure, and so, as Steve disappeared into the kitchen to prepare dinner, he couldn’t help but think to himself that he would have to make sure Brock got as much pleasure tonight as Steve had just given him. 

***

Brock didn’t know about Steve and Jamie’s history. He liked to watch the Captain America movies with Jamie since Jamie enjoyed them so much, but his brain was too damaged to notice the - many - similarities between the two movie characters and the two sitting on the sofa next to him. As far as Jamie could tell, Brock only thought that the movies were fiction, just like the books they read together. 

“Did they ever find him when he fell from the train?” It was a question Brock asked for most of the viewings, most likely having forgotten he’d ever asked it before, but always seeming so innocent and caring in his question, Jamie always held him close and gave a small nod of reassurance. 

Steve didn’t find Brock endearing. No matter how much Jamie begged him to be nice to Brock, all he could think about every time he looked at him was the anger and betrayal and further pain he’d caused Bucky over the years. No matter how foolish Bucky was to trust and  _ love  _ him, Steve would never forget the terrible things Brock had done in the past, even if Brock would never again remember any of it. 

Maybe Steve was petty, but he  _ really  _ didn’t like Brock. 

“Rumlow, that’s  _ enough _ ,” Steve growled, smacking Brock’s hand away from the bowl of chocolate that was seated between them. “Leave some for Bucky.” 

Brock’s eyes were wide with hurt as he turned to look at Jamie. His eyes were shiny with tears, and when his mouth opened, his whisper was confused and frightened. “But I haven’t had any yet, Jamie…” 

Jamie hummed sadly and reached out to the bowl to grab a piece of chocolate and offer it to Brock. His heart hurt when Brock pushed his hand away and shook his head. “Brock is allowed…” 

Brock shook his head again. He stared down at Jamie’s lap, his shoulders slumped as he heaved a sigh. “Don’t want it now…” 

Jamie hummed again and wrapped Brock up tight in his arms. He pulled him onto his lap, his chin resting on Brock’s shoulder as he gave a look of hurt to Steve. “You’re supposed to be my friend, Steve…” 

“I  _ am  _ your friend, Buck - but I’m not  _ his  _ friend,” Steve pointed out. 

Jamie whined. “But you upset me when you upset Brock… Brock doesn’t deserve it.” 

“He was a  _ nazi _ , Bucky,” Steve growled. “You shouldn’t stick by the things he did - especially to  _ you _ .” 

Brock tugged at Jamie’s sleeve and whispered, “What’s he talkin’ about? What’s a Nazi?” 

“It’s what  _ you  _ used to be,” Steve hissed. “When you used to -” 

The air was knocked out of Steve at the way Jamie shoved at his front so hard, the sofa arm broke at the force. Jamie was on his feet, his shoulders and chest heaving and his hands clenched at the anger and hurt bubbling inside of him. His voice trembled from trying to keep in control of his emotions as he growled out, “Don’t hurt him, Steve… I won’t let you hurt him…” 

It was leftover conditioning to always keep his handler safe, Steve knew, but still… He couldn’t deny how much it hurt for his Bucky to side with someone - especially someone who once had been HYDRA - over himself. 

But at the tears that started rolling down Jamie’s face, Steve knew he needed to acknowledge that he should have been easier on Brock, if only for Jamie’s sake. “Bucky… Bucky, I’m sorry.” 

Jamie let out a sob before he disappeared down the hallway, the bedroom door closing behind him. Steve sighed and looked to Brock, still seated on the couch and now curled into a ball as he stared warily at Steve.

If Steve felt the need to say anything to Brock, he no longer did when Brock got himself to his feet and stumbled slowly down the hallway to be back with Jamie. 

The bedroom door slammed behind Brock, having not meant to close it so hard but not realising he’d shoved it with too much force. He looked at the lump on the bed, hidden beneath the bundle of blankets, before he cocked his head to the side. 

“Jamie?” Brock was oblivious to the heaving sobs coming from beneath the blankets, and all he did was pull himself up onto the bed to sit next to the lump. He hummed to himself as he started picking at his shirt, the stress of earlier quickly fading away into nothingness, slowly being filed away where most of his short-term memories went to disappear forever.

Emotion was difficult for Brock to comprehend, especially when displayed by another person. There had been times in the past where Jamie had been seated on the sofa next to him, crying his heart out as he rocked back and forth on the spot, and Brock had done nothing but watch the TV with mild interest because he hadn’t even realised the distress Jamie had been in. 

Today was one of those days, where he had a slight grasp on the fact that Jamie didn’t feel well, but him curled up in the bed under the blankets with tears streaming from his eyes did not register very well in his mind. 

“Jamie, why is he so mean to me?” Brock asked, oblivious to Jamie’s pain. “What did I do to make him hate me so much?” 

Jamie’s wet, tired eyes flickered weakly to Brock standing by the edge of the bed. He dragged out a sigh, wanting so badly to take care of Brock, but just so  _ exhausted  _ to do so, before he mumbled, “Didn’t do anything, Brock…” 

Brock clambered onto the bed so he could lay next to Jamie. “What’s a nazi?” 

Nazi was one of the many concepts Jamie’s damaged mind could vaguely recall once understanding, but now struggled to identify. He was honest when he said he wasn’t sure, but even if he did remember, he knew he would never tell Brock. 

They stayed in silence after that, Brock humming to himself as Jamie continued sobbing. They were interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and while Jamie expected for it to be Steve, the door opening to reveal Sam made him lift his head off the pillow in surprise. 

“Heya. May I come in?” Sam stayed in the doorway until Brock happily invited him into the room, running his fingers now through Jamie’s hair. “Hey. I heard about what happened.”

Jamie sniffed back tears, but Brock seemed completely unfazed now, almost perfectly  _ calm  _ as he said, “Steve called me a nazi.” 

“Did he now?” To Sam, that  _ was  _ news. If he wasn’t already so schooled in keeping his emotions in check, he may have frowned and gone quiet. But instead, calmly, gently, he murmured, “I’ll have a talk with Steve about that. That wasn’t very nice of him, was it?” 

“Nah. I don’t even know what a nazi  _ is _ .” 

Sam chuckled. “Don’t worry about what Steve says, okay? He’s his own issues goin’ on.” 

Brock hummed, picking the fabric of his sleeping pants - his favourite pastime Jamie was sure with how often he had to ask Jemma to stitch Brock’s clothing from him picking at them all the time. 

Jamie, who was still learning social cues and how to act appropriately, tensed as Sam approached. He eyed him off warily, knowing that while he might have come to like Sam, he still didn’t know him very well.

“How do you not know what a nazi is when Captain America is your hero, huh?” Sam was good-natured in his question, playful, and his tiny shove at Brock’s arm truly meant no harm.

But Jamie took it as aggression towards Brock, and that same conditioning to keep his handler safe made a violent comeback in the form of Jamie almost snapping Sam’s wrist in two as he snatched it from Brock’s body and shoved it away. 

Sam was wincing, clearly in pain from having his wrist crushed almost to dust by a metal hand. But he still managed to smile and grimace out amongst his pain, “That’s what friends do, okay…? It’s  _ friendly _ . I  _ promise _ .” 

The haze in Jamie’s eyes didn’t lift a great deal, but when he whispered back, there was clarity in his voice that showed the Soldier wasn’t sticking around for much longer. “But shoving is an act of bullying. Jemma taught me that when I knocked Fitz over…” 

“No, that wasn’t shoving,” Sam promised. “I  _ swear  _ that wasn’t anythin’ like shoving. I would never bully him, okay? That’s a very common  _ friendly  _ act between two  _ friends _ . It’s  _ playful _ ; means we were havin’ a bit of a joke. Okay? I’m not gonna bully Rumlow. I promise.” 

Jamie was silent for several moments, thinking the words over, until he finally settled on mumbling, “Brock doesn’t know what a nazi is because Jemma said he can’t remember learning what a nazi is.” 

“He doesn’t retain new memories very well, huh?” Sam kept his face passive like the professional he was when Jamie gave a nod in response. 

Jamie made eye contact with Sam when Sam reached out to pat Brock’s head fondly. He licked his lips before he hesitantly forced out, “I thought you didn’t like Brock…” 

“Nah, man. The  _ old  _ Rumlow and I didn’t get along - for obvious reasons. But unlike Steve, I can acknowledge that  _ this  _ guy is  _ not  _ the same Rumlow. I kinda like this one. It’s almost like havin’ a little brother.” 

Jamie reached up to rub at his wet, itching eyes. He didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t. He laid back down, pulling Brock against him to hold him tight. He wanted to sleep, sad and tired and  _ hurt _ by Steve’s treatment towards Brock. He did fall asleep eventually, but his dreams that night weren’t very comforting. 

***

When Jamie awoke the next morning, he was alone. It was normal for Brock to have woken before him, but what wasn’t  _ as  _ normal - although by now an accepted fact that sometimes Jamie woke up to this - was the wet, soaking patch all through the bed, on the blankets, and sticking Jamie’s clothing to his skin. 

Jamie got out of the bed and went immediately to the bathroom to look for Brock and ensure he was okay. Every now and then Jamie would wet the bed from nightmares, but it was much more common for Brock to have wet himself in his sleep, his brain struggling to communicate with the rest of his body. 

Brock wasn’t in the bathroom, but Jamie took the time to have a shower and then continue his search in the kitchen. To his relief, that was where he found Brock, sitting at the dining table as Steve bent down in front of him to button up his shirt. Sam was in the background, dishing their breakfasts onto plates and taking special care to ensure both Jamie and Brock had a good amount of scrambled eggs, despite knowing they probably wouldn’t eat half of it. 

Jamie stopped and watched carefully. Steve didn’t look particularly pleased to be there, helping Brock with his clothing, but his long fingers were gentle, regardless. Maybe Sam really had had a talk with Steve. 

Jamie took a seat at the table, accepting his plate of scrambled eggs; even after all this time, his stomach was still over-sensitive and sore - most likely permanent, Jemma theorised - and he knew there was no way he would be able to eat all of his eggs by himself.

Jamie missed the days they would share a plate of food between them, because at least then he didn’t feel so bad to not eat much. 

While Jamie pushed his eggs around on his plate, he noticed that Brock didn’t seem bothered in the least today. Instead, Brock just waited until Steve had finished dressing him before he pulled his chair into the table and dug into his meal ravenously. He choked and gagged on the food, but it did little to deter his appetite, and before Jamie had even picked off a quarter of his serving, Brock was asking for seconds. 

The depression and anxiety were indeed gone, Jamie had been told. It was a  _ very  _ good thing, especially where food and sleep were concerned, but sometimes Jamie wished he could be the same, where he could eat a whole meal on his own and feel  _ full  _ for once. 

“Here.” Jamie passed over his plate, putting it on top of Brock’s own. “I don’t want it.” 

Brock’s eyes glittered with warmth and affection and  _ love  _ as he moved his cutlery to Jamie’s plate. He mumbled something with his mouth full of scrambled egg, incomprehensible, but his bright smile said enough, Jamie was sure. 

Jamie smiled back before he turned his attention to Steve and Sam. He observed them curiously before he murmured, “I want to take Brock to see the animals.” 

“What animals?” Sam’s mouth was stuffed full of toasted sandwich, but the curiosity was still there nonetheless. 

Steve couldn’t help but smile fondly as he gave a small shake of his head. “He likes to go to the animal shelter when he visits.” 

Sam swallowed his food before he replied, in a voice far too enthusiastic for Steve’s liking; knowing Sam, something was going to be suggested here, and he was sure he knew what it was. “That’ll be good for the two of them, Steve. Maybe you should let them pick out an animal - it would be so good for them.” 

“Bucky has a cat,” Steve assured quietly. “It’s okay, Sam. He just likes to go and play with the animals for a while.”

Jamie, who had been listening to the conversation, raised his head. “Can I have another animal, Steve?” 

“You don’t have room for another animal, Buck.” Steve smiled fondly. “Not on the plane.” 

Jamie frowned, but he didn’t argue. Steve wasn’t sure if it were a good or a bad thing. Instead, he gave a small nod and stood to get Brock a glass of orange juice. He stayed silent until he was halfway through pouring the juice before he murmured, “Can I have a smoothie like how Brock always made them…?” 

“Buck, I can’t; I don’t know how -” Sam cut Steve off with a jab of his elbow to the ribs. 

Sam smiled at Jamie, so warmly, Jamie couldn’t help but smile back. “How about we make it together, huh? You can show us everything he uses in the smoothies, and we’ll help you make it. Y’know, so you know how to make them yourself for whenever we aren’t around.” 

Jamie nodded. “Okay. I think he uses lots of banana…” 

And with that, Jamie spent the next fifteen minutes in the kitchen with Sam, learning how to make smoothies for himself. 

***

Sam’s words were still in the back of Jamie’s mind. With every kitten he picked up, and every puppy he cuddled, he had to resist the urge to ask Steve if he could take it home with him. Brock, who hadn’t even heard the conversation to begin with, was smiling down at the three kittens he was holding in his arms, against his chest where they were safe and warm and comfortable, kept asking if they were taking the animals home with them. 

Brock’s sad, dejected look every time he put an animal back in its cage was exactly how Jamie felt inside. 

And Jamie was good, he was obedient, and he followed his orders; he would not ask; he would not want, and he would not - 

“Steve…” Jamie turned puppy dog eyes on Steve once he made his way through the pen of dogs and found himself staring at the saddest dog he had ever seen. He whined softly, his heart hurting at how sad, how frightened the animal looked with its tail tucked between its legs as it held a duck teddy in its mouth and stood crouched fearfully in the corner. Tears welled up in Jamie’s eyes as he imagined the pain the dog must be feeling. “Stevie… I want him.” 

Steve could only sigh as he dragged his wallet from his jeans and turned to the staff member. “How much…?” 

Neither Jamie nor Brock cared much for the conversation that followed between Steve and the shelter attendant; they were too focused on the dog, inching ever closer to it until they were close enough to stroke their fingertips against its rough blue coat. 

The dog whined, never letting go of its duck teddy, and it took Jamie every bit of strength he had to not cry over the thought of his old duckling and what might have happened to him since. 

But when the paperwork had been signed, the money handed over, and a leash clipped onto the solid brown leather collar, Jamie forced himself to stop thinking about his duckling and instead pick the dog up with gentle,  _ gentle  _ arms since the dog didn’t want to move from its corner. 

“It’s okay,” Jamie whispered to the dog, over and over as he carried it out of the building and down the streets. “It’s okay; I don’t mind carrying you.” 

The dog never let go of its duck, but its soft whines continued with every step. Brock couldn’t keep his eyes from it, his gaze soft and his smile even softer as he looked at its ragged appearance. 

There were scars on the dog’s face, as if something had once taken a chunk out of its flesh in the past. One ear was half-missing, but as frightening as the dog may have looked to anyone else, all Brock saw in it was sadness. 

Brock stroked the dog’s rump as they walked, his hums loud and happy. Steve’s apartment wasn’t far from the shelter, and Brock’s legs felt okay to get him the rest of the way, but he was relieved at the chance for a rest when Jamie requested to stop at the pet shop not far ahead, and Steve agreed. 

“Can you look after him, Brock?” Jamie was tender as he put the dog on its feet before handing the leash to Brock. 

Brock hummed agreeably as he moved to sit on the bench and wait, his attention on the dog as it crawled beneath the bench to hide away from the world. Brock thought that Jamie could understand that, but he wasn’t sure; he’d heard of Jamie hiding from the world, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen it for himself. 

Brock didn’t mind when another person took the other end of the bench to sit near him; he only looked at them and gave a smile. His smile was returned, although if his brain wasn’t so damaged, he would have recognised the maliciousness in it. 

“Hello.” Brock’s eyes fixed on the jagged scarring over the other man’s face. 

“Hiya.” The other man’s gaze wandered over Brock before stopping at his temple, locking onto the way his hair hadn’t quite grown back properly due to the burnt skin that raised upwards on both sides of his head. His smile widened into a grin. “What happened to your head?”

“Huh?” Brock raised his hand to trail his fingertips absentmindedly over the burns. He frowned. “My boyfriend says someone hurt me there…” 

“Your boyfriend?” There was amusement in the newcomer’s voice, his eyes glinting dangerously. 

“Uh-huh. He says I can’t remember anythin’ from before but that someone hurt me for tryin’ to help my boyfriend. There’s more scars under my hair. Feel.”

The man’s hand shot out with unrestrained eagerness to drag his fingers along Brock’s scalp, feeling exactly where the bullets had entered and exited. His body gave a visible shudder as a shaky moan escaped him at the feel of the deep, deep scars of shattered skull that would never heal. 

The newcomer leant back suddenly, his spine straight as his eyes held Brock’s gaze. “Your boyfriend’s a liar.” 

“What?” 

The man leant in close, close enough to whisper into Brock’s ear. “Your boyfriend is a liar, Brock~ That’s not what happened~ I was  _ there~ _ ”

Brock frowned. He looked down at his lap, not knowing what the man was talking about - but if he knew Brock’s name… “Who are you…?” 

“You can call me Jack,” the man purred. He reached out with a massive hand scarred all over to caress Brock’s cheek. “We used to sleep together before you ran off with that  _ thing _ .” 

Brock’s mouth fell open. “Don’t talk about Jamie like that! You’re lying!” 

The man named Jack chuckled. “You call it  _ Jamie  _ now? And if I were lying, how would I know your dick is the size of a half a hot dog unerect, and even erect it’s not much bigger?” 

Brock’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He looked down to his lap, his grip on the dog leash tightening. He flinched at the hand that reached out to grip his thigh and squeeze intimately. He tried to move away, but he was held in place by the arm of the bench. His voice was small, uncomfortable. “Please don’t touch me… I don’t know you.” 

Jack laughed, long and loud now. “You  _ do  _ know me. I was the only one you  _ had  _ before you cozied up to that thing you call a boyfriend. But you know what, Brock? It doesn’t love you; it doesn’t know  _ how _ .” 

Brock squeezed his eyes shut to hold back tears. He knew that Jamie loved him, but if this person supposedly knew him in a life he couldn’t remember… 

“What happened to me, Jack…?” Brock’s lip quivered as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

Jack smiled now, soft, yet deceiving. “Winter shot you in the head, Brock. Three times. And the burns? He shocked your brain. I tried to stop him - he tried to  _ kill  _ you.” 

Brock startled to his feet now. His head was ducked, and his hands clenched tightly by his sides. He couldn’t imagine what Jack was telling him, but Jack knew too much - he had to know  _ something _ . 

Jack stood, too, moving to stand in front of Brock and put his hands on his shoulders in a mockery of comfort. “Why don’t you come with me, Brock? You’ll be  _ safe  _ with me. I won’t let that monster hurt you again. He was  _ trained  _ to hurt people, Brock. He’s not  _ safe _ .” 

“He hasn’t hurt me,” Brock whispered, taking a step back. He dropped the leash in his hand when it became taut with the dog never emerging from under the bench. “He  _ hasn’t _ .” 

“Not that you  _ remember,  _ Brock.” Jack cupped Brock’s face and stepped in so close, their bodies pressed together. The bulge in his pants wasn’t unnoticed to Brock, but Brock was too distraught to really take in the implications. He flinched when dry lips pressed against his, but his body felt frozen in place, and no matter how badly he wanted to run away, he couldn’t. 

Jack’s left hand pulled away from Brock’s shoulder and instead snaked behind his back. He clasped something hidden away in his back pocket, his fingers clenched firmly around the handle as he slowly withdrew it from its hiding place. 

But before Jack could slash at Brock with the knife like he couldn’t stop imagining, he was startled by sudden barking from his side, and the dog leapt out from under the bench to sink its teeth into Jack’s hand. 

Jack yelled and dropped the knife, left with the only choice to punch it repeatedly in the head to get it off him. Brock watched in horror, his body shaking and still too scared to be able to move. 

But Jamie and Steve had been summoned by the commotion, and while Steve stopped at Brock’s side, Jamie untangled the dog away from Jack before picking it up in his arms and holding it. The dog continued snapping and snarling at Jack, but Jamie didn’t care; it was taking everything he had to not rip Jack apart, too. 

Jack wasn’t stupid enough to try and finish the job now - not with two super soldiers before him, and a hand too mangled to wield a weapon. He raised his hands in surrender, his face twisted with loathing and anger and pain, but he wasn’t deterred from opening his mouth and spitting, “You ever going to tell Rumlow the truth, Winter? Or am  _ I  _ going to have to? Have you told him what you  _ are  _ yet?” 

Jamie’s body was tense, shaking from anger. His voice was quiet when he replied, too tired, too exhausted for another fight to break out, and if he could get Brock away from this without violence, he would gladly take it. “There is nothing for me to tell him; he knows everything he needs.” 

Brock let out a sob. His body could finally move now, and he ran to Jamie to wrap his arms around him tightly and hide his face in his chest. “He said you hurt me, Jamie…” 

Jamie said nothing, not until he’d turned Brock around to go to Steve. He watched as Brock fled to Steve for protection next. “Go. Ignore him.” 

“You’re nothing but a weapon, Soldier,” Jack called after them. “You don’t know  _ how  _ to love. Whatever you think you feel for Rumlow, you know better than anyone that you’ll kill him, too. Just like the others. You  _ can’t  _ love; you can only kill.” 

Brock was frozen on the spot again, but he wasn’t oblivious to the way Steve moved to stand in front of him, shielding him from Jack’s abuse.

Jamie stood still for exactly five seconds and thirty-one milliseconds before he took a deep breath and turned back to face Jack. His feet moved of their own accord, shuffling the dog to be held in his flesh arm instead, and no matter how many people had stopped to stare on the streets, his metal hand pulled back, and a sickening crunch filled the air as he broke Jack’s jaw in one strike. He’d pulled his punch, holding back, even though he knew that Jack didn’t deserve any mercy - but really, Jamie had held back not for Jack, but for  _ himself _ . Jamie didn’t want anymore fighting in his life, but if it came to defending Brock, he would do whatever it took. 

Brock’s eyes were wide as he took in the scene. He whimpered as he looked up to Steve now, his eyes full of tears as he whispered, “Did Jack tell the truth, Steve…? Did Jamie really try to kill me…?” 

Steve was silent. He knew how easily he could take advantage of this question, lie to Brock and drive him away. He would have Bucky to himself if he did that, no more Brock to get in between them and split Bucky’s attention. Steve had lied to the government on many occasions - lying to a nazi would be nothing at all. 

But the devastated expression on Brock’s face, and the small, wounded whimpers he made were enough for Steve to feel sorry for him.

Steve shook his head. “No. Rollins did that; Bucky saved your life. Whatever Rollins told you was a lie.” 

“But he knew too much about me,” Brock whispered, following closely behind Steve now while Jamie tailed at a distance, seemingly lost in thought. “He said… He said we were sleeping together before I ran off with Jamie… Is that true?” 

Steve hummed thoughtfully. Truth be told, there  _ had  _ been rumours around SHIELD that Jack and Brock were fucking, but Brock…

“No,” Steve finally settled on. “No, that’s not true, either. You were always with Bucky, Rumlow. I promise.” 

Brock nodded, seemingly calmed now by Steve’s honesty. He slipped his hand into Steve’s as they walked, and as much as Steve wanted to rip his hand away and growl, he didn’t, if only because of what had happened. 

“He was going to stab me…” Brock finally whispered, realising. “I…”

“The dog is what brought us out,” Steve confirmed. “You were lucky.” 

Brock nodded sadly, knowing that once they got back to Steve’s, he was going to have to show his appreciation to the dog as best he could for saving his life.

***

“I told you it would be good for them both,” Sam murmured to Steve as they both sat on the sofa and watched the way Jamie and Brock sat in the hallway, rolling a tennis ball along the floor for their new, shy friend to play with. 

Steve sighed loudly and let his shoulders slump together. He hadn’t told Sam what had happened with Jack, not sure if he would any time soon, but he knew Sam well enough to know that Sam would pick up quickly if his attitude changed too much on the dog. “He doesn’t need anymore animals, Sam… Even the cat he has he was allowed very reluctantly… Wait until he goes back and Coulson sees he has a dog now…” 

“Man, as long as they’re happy, right? And they both look  _ very  _ happy.” Sam nodded his head at the scene, getting Steve to look at where Brock had curled up on the floor with the dog, holding it tight as he prepared for a sleep. And Jamie… 

Jamie had his back against the wall, the tennis ball on his lap as he now held his tablet and stared at it in deep concentration. 

Steve sighed again before he dropped his face into his hands. This time he was sincere in his words, knowing Jamie wasn’t exactly ready to be a dog owner just yet; he still had a lot he needed to work through first before taking on such a big responsibility. “He shouldn’t have the dog…” 

Sam ignored his friend’s words and instead got up so he could sit by Jamie’s side and murmur, quietly enough that he wouldn’t disturb Brock, “What are you doin’?” 

Jamie touched something on the screen before he whispered, “Research.” 

“Research about what?” 

“Dogs.” Jamie was quiet for a moment before he finally looked away from the tablet and to Sam to ask, “What kind of dog is he?” 

“I dunno; think Steve somethin’ about a pitbull.” 

“Thank you.” Jamie may have focused his attention back on his tablet, but at least he was getting the hang of the whole manners thing. 

“Mind if I have a look at what you’re lookin’ at?” Sam didn’t expect for Jamie to agree. Jamie tended to be distant at times, closed off and almost secrative to a point. But, to Sam’s surprise, he passed the tablet over to let Sam look at it. 

“Comfort jacket.” Jamie spoke so out of the blue, Sam almost didn’t understand what he was talking about - until he read the article Jamie had been reading about timid dogs and realised Jamie wanted to get an anxiety jacket for his own dog to help it. He smiled. “Man, you really take this stuff serious, don’t you?” 

Jamie nodded. He reached out to take back his tablet and continue reading. 

“Have you decided on a name for him yet?” Sam, who didn’t know Jamie  _ well,  _ but had been told enough of the old Bucky Barnes to garner a good guess, didn’t think that Jamie would want his new dog to keep the same name it had been given by its previous owners who had abandoned it for a puppy. And of course, he was right in his guess when Jamie cocked his head to the side and, with slight hesitation, murmured, “Chance.” 

There was no need for further explanation with that, and so Sam only smiled and patted Jamie on the shoulder before he got up, leaving him to continue his research. 

The next morning, Jamie awoke to find an anxiety jacket on the end of his bed, just the perfect size for his new friend. 

***

“Can I help?” 

The distaste was clear on Steve’s face. His nose was scrunched up, his eyebrows tight as he stared down at Brock with enough dislike to make Brock recoil. His tone was cold, and if he hadn’t known that Jamie would be listening to them from the living room, he would have growled out a lot more than a simple no. 

Brock’s expression was crestfallen. He looked down to his feet, shuffling awkwardly before offering, “But… I always get to help our friends…” 

“We’re not friends.” It took Steve everything he had to not spit the words at Brock. “You’re only here because Bucky wants you to -” 

“-Jamie.” 

“Don’t interrupt me, Rumlow!” Steve snapped. 

Brock flinched. He looked at his feet again before gathering the courage to murmur, “He doesn’t like being called Bucky…” 

“He likes it when _ I _ do!” Steve threw the spatula he’d been making breakfast with into the basin. “Just because he keeps you around to make you feel better about yourself doesn’t mean that you know him better than I do!” 

“Steve.” It was Jamie’s tiny voice from the doorway that shut Steve up. He frowned now, all traces of anger and loathing gone as he stared into Jamie’s betrayed face. “Steve… Why are you being mean to Brock…?” 

As much as Steve wished he couldn’t, he found himself lying to Bucky again and again. “I’m not being mean to him, Buck;  _ he  _ started this.  _ He’s  _ the one being mean.”

Jamie’s eyes moved to focus on Brock with a sort of detached curiosity. He cocked his head in contemplation before he looked back at Steve and murmured, “Brock isn’t mean…” 

“He is to me, Bucky,” Steve snapped. “You haven’t heard what he said!” 

Jamie gave a soft hum. He said nothing as he stepped into the kitchen, only moving to wrap his arms around Brock and hold him close. He waited until Brock returned the embrace before he murmured, “Did you want to help with breakfast again?” 

Brock nodded. His whisper back was tiny, shaky. “He was being mean to me for asking to help…” 

Jamie frowned. He took Brock by the hand and led him out of the kitchen, whispering promises that he’d make sure Brock would help with lunch and dinner. Brock looked over his shoulder as he left, throwing one last uncertain look at Steve before they rounded the corner.

When Brock whispered to Jamie again, the sadness was clear in his voice. “When will Steve like me, Jamie…?”

Jamie wished with everything he was that he could have an answer for that, but unfortunately, Jamie felt like he was just a walking disappointment. He took a seat on the sofa beside Brock, the two falling into an uncomfortable silence before Brock dismissed himself to the bedroom for a sleep. 

When Brock awoke, however, Brock and Steve were gone, but Sam was on the sofa with his laptop. Brock approached slowly, whining at the discomfort he felt in his abdomen that had woken him from his nap.

“Sam…”

Sam was alert at Brock’s weak voice. He moved his feet off the coffee table so he could instead place his laptop there, his work reports on hold so he could attend to Brock’s needs. “What’s up, man?”

Brock’s whimper was pitiful, and the way he clutched at his stomach was even worse. His eyes were teary, his whole body shaking as he dragged himself away from his bedroom and into the living area. “Where’s Jamie…?”

“He’s walkin’ the dog with Steve. You okay, man? Your stomach hurtin’?”

Brock nodded. A stray tear rolled down his cheek. “Hurts… Real bad…”

Sam felt sorry for Brock. He really did. The guy had a whole range of health issues, and honestly, Sam was surprised he had made it this far. He’d known stronger men who had succumbed to less, but somehow, Brock was still alive and kicking, albeit weakly.

“Yeah, that’s the brain damage – messes with your gut.” Sam stood up and gestured to the couch. “Lay down for a while, man. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Brock didn’t hesitate to obey, groaning weakly as he laid down on his back and stared up at the roof. A rough cough escaped his lips, phlegm and saliva expelling forcefully before he slowly rolled himself onto his side to try and ease the pain.

Sam clicked his tongue. Brock tended to do okay, but it was times like this where Sam wondered if it would have been merciful to have let Brock die; the guy lived in constant pain, and the confusion of hardly knowing where he was and what was happening couldn’t help matters.

Sam started to move away to fetch whatever he could that may help Brock, but he didn’t get far from the sofa before his attention was grabbed by the sound of a glass shattering behind him. He turned back around, wondering what had set Brock off enough for him to be smashing things, but it didn’t take a genius to work out what was happening.

“Jesus!” Sam rushed back to the sofa, his hands in the air as he tried desperately to think of what to do; with Brock’s body spasming from seizures so violently, all he  _ could  _ do was call for an ambulance. 

Sam  _ really  _ was convinced that Brock would have been better off having not been resuscitated.

***

Jamie wasn’t supposed to bring any more animals onto Coulson’s plane, but with how happy Brock and Jamie were to have returned with a big blue pitbull in tow, and how enthused the rest of his team were to have a dog to play with, Coulson hadn’t been able to find it in him to say no. 

Besides, having another animal onboard to play with and look after only helped Jamie’s mental health, and they all already knew that from the experience with Jamie’s cat. 

“Jemma, I want to have our date tomorrow night.” Jamie carefully measured the dry dog food in a measuring cup, knowing not to overfeed Chance. Jemma happened to be in the kitchen with him, and while Brock was having a bath with Fitz, Jamie wanted to talk about it. “I want to take him to see a movie first. And then I want to have dinner with him. And then I want to make love to him.” 

Simmons couldn’t help but laugh, long used to Jamie’s straightforwardness as to his bedroom activities. “You must have been thinking about it all week.” 

“I asked Steve’s friend for ideas. Did you know you can make love instead of having sex?” 

Jemma pretended not to have known. She smiled wider. “Is that so?” 

Jamie nodded. “I didn’t know until Sam told me. I haven’t made love to Brock before. Steve doesn’t like it when we kiss and stuff at his home so I didn’t get to do anything to Brock. So I want it to be special and make love to Brock on our date.” 

Jamie really had come far, Jemma knew. He’d come in leaps and bounds, and he was just the sweetest thing, even when he’d stumble and fall and take a few steps backwards. He loved Brock. They could all see that. It wasn’t like the questionable affection he’d seemed to once hold towards Brock; this love towards him was sincere, fostered in a genuine, loving environment that had taught him more than the emptiness he was so used to. 

Brock was the same, really, but everyone suspected the brain damage had erased the parts of Brock that had made love difficult for him, and now all he felt was pure emotion, untainted and  _ raw _ .

“If you want it to be so special, we have to get you ready.” Jemma tangled her fingers in Jamie’s hair, stroking his scalp gently. “Want to come into town with me? I’ll take you shopping and help you get everything prepared.” 

Jamie’s eyes glinted so happily at the offer, Jemma almost couldn’t believe this was the same person she’d once read files on as the Winter Soldier. 

***

With the help of all his friends, Jamie had picked the perfect movie and restaurant to take Brock to. He wasn’t sure of what the movie was called, but Sam had suggested it, and Jemma had bought the tickets for them, and all that had mattered was the fact that Brock had laughed his head off all throughout the movie. Jemma had stayed close, but not close enough to intrude on them, only nearby enough in case she was needed for anything. 

The movie had finished, with Brock’s head on Jamie’s shoulder and Jamie’s arm around his waist to hold him close. They’d left once the credits started rolling, Jemma driving them to the restaurant and getting them to the table she had reserved. 

Jamie had never eaten out before, and Jemma couldn’t help but admit that it was rather sweet to teach him how to read the menu, and then watch him mimic her almost perfectly to teach Brock to do the same thing. 

“Is steak any good?” Brock asked, seemingly daunted by the endless options he was presented with. 

“It is, but it will have to be cut up into small pieces for you so you don’t choke,” Jemma explained. With that, Brock had decided, and Jamie did as Jemma instructed him to do when it came to ordering their food. 

***

By the time Jemma had driven them back home, Jamie was hot and excited and barely containing himself from ravaging Brock in the backseat of the SUV. As soon as the car had been parked on the ramp and Jemma had turned the engine off, Jamie had almost ripped the car door off in his haste to get Brock back to their bedroom. 

Brock was unfazed when the bedroom door slammed shut behind them; he had grown used to Jamie’s almost-spontaneous bursts of arousal that at times literally knocked the breath out of him - but Jamie was a good, conscious lover who had never purposely hurt him in their lovemaking and had learnt quickly if he had. 

Brock turned his head away when Jamie tried to kiss him. “Jamie - Jamie, no. I’m too tired.” 

Jamie immediately pulled away to peer down at Brock in concern. It was rare for him to say no to sex, and the only times he really did it was when he wasn’t feeling too well. 

Now that Jamie was thinking about it, such a long night had surely hurt Brock’s neck. 

Jamie ducked his head to kiss Brock’s shoulder. “Neck sore?” 

Brock nodded. Jamie raised his head to peer at him, and Brock indeed didn’t look too well. His face was pale, his eyes hazy and a bead of sweat caught in his hair. He gave a loud sigh and leaned into Jamie’s front, allowing himself to be wrapped up in strong arms he knew would never hurt him. “It’s hurtin’ again, like before Jemma took me to the hospital.” 

Jamie hummed thoughtfully as he raised his flesh hand to ghost his fingertips against the scarring on Brock’s neck. Sure enough, beneath the scar from the medical procedure Jemma had organised for the lumps to be removed, there was a slight hardness, a tiny bulge pushing against the surface. 

Jamie would have to tell Jemma about that tomorrow; she might want to take Brock for another surgery. 

Jamie was so gentle when he took Brock’s hand and led him to the bed, it could have been likened to someone picking up a newborn kitten. “Bed. I will massage.” 

Brock never had any complaints when it came to massages; he only wished that he could lay in bed and be massaged forever. He was sure that if he asked Jamie, Jamie wouldn’t mind to do so, but Brock knew that Jamie didn’t like being cooped up in the same spot for too long, so he only ever took what he was given. 

Brock gave a pleased sigh at the flesh-and-metal fingertips digging gently into his neck. He closed his eyes and felt his entire body relaxing until he was splayed out limblessly on his back, his breathing rough and heavy as he just  _ melted _ beneath Jamie’s ministrations. 

But as always, Jamie’s body continued to react until his fingers slowed, and his breathing became heavy as he peered down into Brock’s face through half-lidded, pupil-blown eyes. 

Brock opened his eyes now to look back at Jamie. As tired as he was, when a cool, metal hand came to rub his cheek slowly, he couldn’t help but let out a small moan. Jamie knew that if someone told him no, it was inappropriate for him to touch them without their permission, and he knew that also applied to Brock - but nobody had ever told him he had to wait for permission to kiss someone, and Brock never told him he didn’t want to kiss. 

Brock’s eyes squeezed shut tightly, and his breath hitched when Jamie ducked his head down to press his lips against Brock’s throat. The gentle scratch of his stubble sent shivers down Brock’s spine, and he unashamedly let out a small pant. His hands shot out to grab Jamie’s shoulders, his nails digging into Jamie’s flesh shoulder hard enough to leave scratches. 

Jamie pulled his lips away so he could next kiss Brock on the lips. Their lips parted, and their tongues danced together in a slow rhythm, never breaking apart even as Jamie shifted his body so he was laying atop Brock, covering him with his massive body. Brock’s arms slid around his shoulders, holding on for dear life when a more intense kiss was next given to him.

Jamie broke the kiss again so he could next pepper kisses along Brock’s jawline and neck. He sucked a deep kiss into the crevice of Brock’s neck and shoulder before he murmured against Brock’s skin, “May I touch…?” 

Brock gave a small moan as he nodded. As tired as he was, once he was in the mood, everything be damned. He keened softly when Jamie lowered his body further to lay fully on top of Brock, their hips pressed together for a few moments before Jamie thrust upwards, rubbing their arousals together. 

“Jamie…!” Brock’s breathing hitched, and his eyes shot wide open. He whimpered, his own hips stuttering forward to get more of the feeling he had come to learn he didn’t want to live without. 

Jamie moaned softly. He wanted so badly to make love to Brock, to make sure that Brock  _ knew  _ how much Jamie loved him - but one thing Jamie had learnt quickly was that if Brock came too soon, he couldn’t get it up again until the next day. 

Jamie pulled his hips away with reluctance so he could instead pull his shirt over his head and throw it into the corner of the room. He kept his eyes on Brock, his breathing picking up now as their eyes stayed locked on each other, seeing nothing but their lover. 

“I want to make love to Brock,” Jamie finally whispered, breaking the silence. “Please?” 

Brock nodded, his eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide, his mouth hanging open in pleasure. He didn’t know what making love was, having never heard the terminology before, and all the porn he liked to consume was always more on the rough side - so the more he thought about it, the more excited he became at the realisation that Jamie was going to do something outside of their usual sex. 

Jamie slid down Brock’s body as soon as he received his permission. He kissed Brock’s belly slowly, lavishing it with love as his hands caressed Brock’s bony hips with all the gentleness he was capable of. 

It would be Jamie’s first time to do this, but he’d been thinking about it for a while. He’d been wanting to try oral with Brock, having never given it to Steve, but having received it from him enough to have learnt that there  _ could  _ be pleasure behind the action had left him yearning to try it with Brock. He unbuckled Brock’s belt slowly before he pulled his lover’s jeans from his body and tossed them away over his shoulder. He leant down slowly. 

Brock let out a loud gasp at the hot, wet mouth that slowly engulfed his arousal. His hands shot out to grasp at the bed sheets, his eyes wide and his back arching off the bed. “A-ahh!” 

Brock had never received oral before, Jamie had to remember. Well, maybe he  _ had,  _ but back in a lifetime he was never going to remember. It was new sensations for him, overwhelming his already-fragile mind, and he wasn’t quite sure on how to handle it. The thought of it urged Jamie on, wanting Brock to feel so good, Brock would never forget this night. 

“Jamie!” Brock’s back arched again at the feel of Jamie’s nose nestled in his pubic hair. He panted harshly, tears springing up into the corner of his eyes. He reached out with his left hand to grab Jamie’s hair, holding on tight for a lifeline. 

Jamie moaned softly at the feeling of his hair being pulled. Once upon a time he would have hated it, wanted nothing more than to break the wrist of the hand pulling at him - but this was  _ Brock,  _ and Jamie found himself perhaps even  _ turned on  _ by the action at knowing Brock wasn’t doing this to hurt or humiliate him. 

Jamie didn’t gag or feel sick at Brock’s cock against the back of his throat. He’d been on his knees enough for HYDRA agents in the past that it didn’t bother him too much, not for Brock, not as long as it was for Brock. 

Jamie raised his head to create a slow drag of his lips along Brock’s arousal. He’d never thought that he would enjoy doing this, but the way Brock moaned and whimpered and jerked beneath his mouth had Jamie straining within his own pants. He moved a hand to palm himself over the fabric, his fingers curling around his bulge and stroking slowly. 

Brock’s hips continued to jerk upwards, stuttering with every desperate movement he made. His mouth hung open, slack-jawed and dripping saliva everywhere. His moans were loud, music to Jamie’s ears, and Jamie couldn’t help but lower his hips so he could grind himself against the bed sheets. 

Jamie swirled his tongue beneath the tip of Brock’s head, trying to mimic the actions Steve would do for him. It seemed to be working, seemed to be bringing Brock the same kind of pleasure it always brought Jamie to have this done to him, because from the little that Jamie had learnt about sex, Brock was going to come. 

Jamie pulled his mouth away from Brock, keeping the base in his palm and watching the way Brock’s testicles went taut with the need for release. 

“Jamie…” Brock’s eyes were half-lidded now as he stared at Jamie. Saliva run down his chin, his voice slurred with pleasure and arousal. He reached out for Jamie. “Jamie…” 

Jamie’s cock was hard, and as much as he would have enjoyed to sit back and just admire Brock, he knew he couldn’t keep Brock waiting for long. He never broke eye contact with Brock as his hand reached for the bedside drawers, opening the top drawer and retrieving the half-used bottle of lube with ease. He popped open the cap and spread the contents on his flesh fingers, ensuring they were nice and slick before he used his metal hand to roll Brock onto his side. 

There was another thing that Jamie wanted to try with Brock. It wasn’t exactly something he did with Steve, but he knew it was something Brock always loved to watch whenever he wanted to watch the adult movies that Jamie didn’t really like.

Besides, Jemma had told him this was part of making love, and if it would make Brock feel as loved as he possibly could, Jamie was willing to do it. 

“A-ahh!” Brock’s keen was sure to have been heard in the other rooms, but Jamie didn’t care; all he cared about was Brock’s  _ very  _ positive reaction to his first time having a tongue lapping him open. “Jamie!” 

Jamie was encouraged, pushing his tongue inside gently before pushing a finger in to join it in the warm crevice. He flicked his tongue, rocking his digit in and out before inserting another finger. Brock was absolutely  _ keening  _ at the feeling, and Jamie was sure that if they didn’t start soon, he was going to come inside his pants. 

Jamie waited until he’d stretched Brock open before he pulled his fingers and tongue away to undo his belt and shove his pants away. He stripped them both of their lst garments before he grabbed the lube again to slick his arousal up. He shuddered at the cold sensation, at his hand wrapping around his cock and stroking, but none of that compared to when he’d laid his body down on top of Brock’s and wrapped tightly around him. 

“I want to make love to you,” Jamie whispered, his eyes boring deep into Brock’s. “Please?” 

Brock’s moan was desperate. He rocked his ups upwards, trying to rub their arousals together. Jamie obliged him, reaching down with his flesh hand to wrap their erections together and stroke. Brock’s eyes closed again, tears leaking from the corners as he wrapped his arms around Jamie’s neck. 

“Jamie… Jamie, please…” Brock’s whimpers were loud, and Jamie couldn’t deny him his wishes. He let go of their cocks and instead repositioned them both so that Brock was flat on his back with his legs spread around him, and Jamie knelt between them and carefully eased his arousal inside of Brock. 

Jamie had never been one to take the penetration slowly. He’d never really  _ learnt to.  _ Not with HYDRA; not with Steve who always insisted on entering with one single push - but this… 

This felt better to Jamie than any other way ever had, and he knew immediately that this was how he wanted to enter Brock from now on. 

Brock’s nails clawed at Jamie’s shoulders, leaving blood in his wake where there was still flesh to claw at. Jamie moaned softly, not minding in the least.

“Jamie, I-I…!” Brock gave a loud sob as he reached down to grasp his erection and squeeze. “I’m gonna come!” 

Jamie moaned again, closing his eyes in an effort to hold back his own climax. “Not yet, Brock…”

Jamie held still long enough to give Brock time to adjust to the intrusion. He busied himself with licking and sucking at Brock’s neck and throat, nibbling lightly but never enough to break the skin, never enough to cause any pain or discomfort to Brock. 

When Brock gave a breathy moan and a whisper that he was ready, Jamie rocked his hips. He started off lightly, slow, little thrusts he’d never really known before, and finding that he indeed preferred this method of love-making to the harder, full-on one he’d only known instead.

Jamie would have to remember to thank Jemma for helping him learn about love-making, because this was the only way he wanted to do it with Brock from now on. 

Jamie’s thrusts never got much harder. They stayed consistent, slow and gentle and making up for it with kisses and caresses that never seemed to end. Brock moaned when a warm flesh hand that wasn’t his own wrapped around his erection, stroking in time with Jamie’s movements. 

Jamie moaned softly at a particular thrust, the drag of Brock’s insides against his arousal almost pulling him over the edge. Brock wasn’t far from it, would only need a few more gentle thrusts to get there, but Jamie didn’t want it to end before he was sure that Brock knew how much he loved him. 

But Brock’s age had caught up to him long ago, and it never took much to get him to his climax. Brock’s final whimper was loud, and the dig of nails in his back told Jamie that Brock was climaxing. Sure enough, the warmth that splashed against his stomach, and the convulsing of walls around his erection quickly brought Jamie to his own climax. 

Jamie rolled off of Brock, laying so that they were each laying on their sides and staring at each other. Brock was still panting heavily, but the smile on his face, and the warmth in his eyes said enough for Jamie to be content with.

Jamie reached out to stroke Brock’s face, wiping the sweat away and caressing his metal thumb against Brock’s cheek. He smiled before he leant in, placing a soft kiss on Brock’s forehead, and for the first time, he whispered, “I love you, Brock.” 

Brock didn’t reply back, not verbally, but the way he snuggled in close to curl against Jamie’s body and fall asleep almost immediately was enough. Jamie wrapped his arms around Brock and held him tight, keeping him warm and safe and loved through the night, and just like that, Jamie followed him into oblivion. 

***

Jamie’s eyes opened the next morning. He smiled at the sight of Brock still tangled in his arms, face hidden against Jamie’s throat as his own arms remained wrapped tight around Jamie’s upper body. 

Jamie pulled back slightly so he could kiss Brock’s forehead. He smiled fondly as he brushed hair from Brock’s eyes, watching for the familiar flutter of eyelids. 

“Brock?” When no response came, Jamie ran his flesh hand over Brock’s body, but panic immediately filled him when he felt how cold Brock’s body was. He squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering again and again as he tried not to think about what he had once known so well about this kind of thing. “Brock…!” 

Still, Brock didn’t move in the slightest. Jamie took a deep breath, his hand shaking like it had never shook before as he moved two fingers to press against Brock’s pulse point in his neck. 

Jamie was sure he should have wailed then and there. He was sure he should have howled and screamed and begged, but all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut tight, hold onto Brock with a strength he had never used on him before, and just  _ sob _ , sob like an elementary school student who had been called a bad word. 

Time must have passed by in a blur because before Jamie knew it, the alarm clock was flashing three-o-two, and someone was knocking on the bedroom door. 

“Jamie? Brock?” It was Skye, and when no response came, the door opened slowly, revealing her concerned expression. “Jamie? Are you alright?” 

Jamie was sure his tears should have come harder now, but they didn’t. He made no sound, nothing, just remained laying where he was with Brock in his arms as tears clung to his eyelashes before slowly rolling down his cheeks.

Skye came closer, seemingly having an inkling. She reached out for the blankets to drag them up and over the mens’ hips before she, too, reached out to check Brock’s pulse. When she found none, she looked at Jamie with complete understanding.

“Jamie… I’m so sorry…” Skye reached out to pat Jamie’s head, not knowing what else to do or say. She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m sure he passed away peacefully, Jamie… I’m sure he was  _ happy  _ when he went…” 

Jamie choked on his tears now. He pulled away just far enough to look at Brock’s face, and sure enough, the sight of a smile still etched on Brock’s face did little to ease his pain. “Why did he… leave me…?” 

“He was old and sick, Jamie,” Skye explained, hating how it sounded like she was explaining to a young child why their old dog had died, but really not knowing how else to make Jamie understand. “He had a lot of health problems, and in the end, he couldn’t fight them off any longer…” 

Jamie sniffed, as if he were in acceptance of her words, before he murmured, “He said he’s been peeing blood…” 

Skye didn’t want to lecture Jamie about not telling them these things - in Jamie’s mind, it probably wasn’t anything he’d thought to be concerned about until now - and instead stroked Jamie’s hair gently. She smiled sadly as she nodded, whispering, “See? He was very sick…” 

Jamie sniffed again. His wet, blurry eyes bored into Skye’s as he whispered, “Are you going to take him away from me…?” 

Skye nodded. “We need to check him over and see why he -” 

Jamie choked on a sob, his shoulders heaving before he let out a shaky moan of despair. He raised a hand to hide his eyes, but the tears continued to roll past his palm and down his cheeks. 

Skye didn’t want to take Brock away from Jamie - not like this, not so soon - but the sooner they could get an autopsy done, the sooner they could help Jamie say his goodbyes and let him decide what he wanted done with the body. 

“I’ll be back, Jamie; I’m just going to get the others.” Skye gave one last pat of Jamie’s head before she left, leaving Jamie alone with Brock. 

When Skye returned, it was with Jemma, Fitz and Coulson in tow, along with a gurney. Coulson and Fitz reached out to move Brock’s body onto the gurney, but they were quickly stopped by Jamie, who, surprisingly, lifted Brock up and moved him onto the gurney himself. 

Coulson observed his crew with soft eyes. He was frowning, the sight of Fitz sniffing and wiping his eyes with his sleeve in hopes of being inconspicuous about his tears was as sad as the way Jamie unashamedly let them roll down his face to drip onto the floor beneath them. 

“Let’s get him checked out,” Coulson murmured, sensitive to the overall mood in the room. He went to take hold of the gurney and wheel it back to the lab, but he stopped at the metal hand that slipped itself into his own hand. Coulson smiled and squeezed, holding on gently as he whispered, “If you get cleaned up and dressed, you can join us in the lab.” 

“I’ll look after him,” Skye promised, taking Jamie’s other hand in hers. “We’ll be there soon.” 

Jamie did little more than sit on the edge of the bed and make tiny, wounded noises. He didn’t care when Skye rubbed his abdomen clean of last night’s activities, nor was he very responsive when she pulled a shirt over his head and guided each leg into his pants; he only sat there, staring at her with so much exhaustion, he looked ready to fall asleep on the spot. 

Skye was gentle as she put Jamie’s boots on his feet, and once she’d finished tying the laces, she reached her hand out for his. Jamie accepted it, allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and when Skye tried to take her hand back, he whimpered and held on tighter. 

Skye quickly got the point, and she allowed Jamie to hold her hand as they made their slow way down to the lab together. 

Jamie never said a word in the lab. He sat down in the corner and watched with tear-filled eyes as Simmons examined Brock. He listened in silence when Simmons sat down and personally explained to him that she had diagnosed the cause for Brock’s passing as cardiac arrhythmia. When he was asked what he wanted done with Brock’s body, he did nothing except give a strangled sound. And when he was offered a little more alone time with Brock, he took it in silence, pushing himself up from the chair and clambering onto the gurney to hold Brock tightly in his arms. 

Jamie stayed with Brock, maybe for hours, possibly for days. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed; all he knew was that Coulson had come back into the lab and gently pried him away from Brock’s body with tender requests for him to eat something. 

And it was then, when it hit Jamie so hard in the face at realising Brock was gone, that his emotions peaked, and Jamie felt like he had just been gutted. 

***

Between Jamie and Brock, they didn’t really have much. They’d never had much need for anything; a few animal toys lay scattered around their bedroom floor, a bookshelf filled with books sat by their bed, and their tablets on the desk against the far wall. A few DVD cases joined the tablets, DVDs that their friends had bought for them over their time together. 

They didn’t have much, but they’d been happy. 

And now, as Jamie stared at the bookshelf, his fingers ran over the spine of the last novel Brock had been reading, and hadn’t gotten far into before passing away. 

It’d been three months. Three months of not coming out of bed and not eating and needing to sleep with the others in their beds at night lest he not be able to sleep at all. But now, as Jamie stared around the room, he couldn’t push away the nagging thought he’d tried so desperately to ignore; what did he do now without Brock? 

Jamie felt lost. More lost than he ever remembered being. He didn’t know how to survive without Brock - Brock had single handedly been the only one to keep him alive for over twenty years, the only one to look after him and give him a new life outside of HYDRA… 

But now… 

Now Jamie was going to have to find a new purpose. He’d lived for Brock, but now, he was going to have to learn how to live for himself, too. 

Jamie’s eyes eventually found themselves settled on the urn in the middle of the desk, the one that Coulson had given him with a gentle explanation that it held Brock’s ashes inside. He frowned. 

He forced his gaze away from the urn so he could instead look around his bedroom, trying to find something to help guide him to where he needed to be. 

His gaze settled on the dog leash on the ground, and immediately his eyes filled with tears. The grey, bone-printed leash was the same one Brock had picked out, and it hurt more than words could explain. 

But still, it was a start. 

Jamie lent down to pick the leash up. He ran his flesh thumb over it in silent contemplation, trying to will away the tears before he looked back to the urn. 

Brock wouldn’t like it cooped up inside in an urn, Jamie knew. Brock liked to be out and about, and to see the world. He didn’t like being stuck inside. 

Jamie moved to the desk to take hold of the urn. He held it carefully in his flesh arm, not wanting to break it, and with it and the dog leash in hand, he left his bedroom on his own for the first time in months. 

Jamie stopped at Fitz’s bedroom. He peered inside, seeing Fitz sitting on the edge of his bed so he could do his boots up. Jamie sniffed before mumbling. “Can you come for a walk with me, Fitz…?” 

Fitz looked up and frowned. As hard as he’d taken Brock’s passing also, he still nodded, just glad to see Jamie finally having found the strength to leave his bedroom. “Where are we going…?” 

“To take Chance for a walk…” 

Fitz wasn’t oblivious to the urn Jamie was carrying, but if that was what Jamie needed to be able to come to terms with Brock’s passing, so be it. He said nothing about it, only nodded and murmured that Chance was in the living area with the others. 

Jamie’s next stop was to gather Chance on the lead before murmuring a sad hello to everyone else. He left quickly when Skye tried to talk to him, keeping Brock’s urn tucked tightly beneath his flesh arm so he could hold Fitz’s hand with his metal hand. 

His metal hand was okay to touch others with, and it was just another part of him to love, he had learnt from Brock. 

They left the plane, walking into the forest they were near, walking in silence for several hours until Jamie had found the perfect spot; an overlook with a beautiful view of the river beneath the cliff. 

“Here…” Jamie murmured for the first time since they’d left. He passed Chance’s leash to Fitz so he could instead put the urn on the ground and open it up. His eyes filled with tears at the thought of finally saying goodbye to Brock for good, but at the same time…

Well, Jamie couldn’t explain it. 

“Are you sure…?” Fitz whispered, his own eyes wet now. “If you do it, you can’t get him back…” 

Jamie choked on a sob. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as he nodded. “...I know… But… Brock will be happier…” 

“What about you…?” Fitz stepped closer to put his hand on Jamie’s metal shoulder. “Will  _ you  _ be happy…?” 

“...” Jamie opened his eyes to look back at the urn. He frowned, considering the question, before he squeezed his eyes shut tight again and picked the urn up. Tears leaked past his eyelids and down his cheeks. “This is… my moving on…” 

And just like that, Jamie spread the ashes out into the air, watching with tear-blurred eyes as they scattered and vanished. 

“I love you…” Jamie whispered, not even trying to control his tears. “I love you… But now I need to learn how to live without you…” 

Jamie cried. He curled into Fitz’s chest and accepted the warm arms that wrapped around him as he cried his heart out properly for the first time since Brock had passed away. As heavy as his heart felt, he’d finally said his goodbyes, and all that was left now was to try and pick his life back up again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
